


You Can't Go Home Again

by London9Calling



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, M/M, Modeling, Photography, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 12:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12321453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London9Calling/pseuds/London9Calling
Summary: Minseok spends a decade ignoring the roots of his career, the pain and confusion of a love long gone. But maybe he isn’t alone. A Xiuhan fashion industry AU (Photographer Minseok / Model Lu Han)





	You Can't Go Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> For Josie (who set this train in motion). I hope you like it.  
> Note- probably could use another edit / beta, sorry I am tired and will get back to it tomorrow

Minseok set the heavy bag down on the corner table, huffing as the weight left his right shoulder. He was sore, an old shoulder injury from years ago flaring up at the worst time.

“You could have somebody carry those in for you, you know,” Jongdae drawled from somewhere behind Minseok, watching and judging.

“I had to replace a few lenses last night,” Minseok muttered, his hand going to his shoulder, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt caused by the straps of the heavy bags. His white and blue striped button down was a mess, the ironing job he had so carefully completed that morning was ruined. He sighed, frowning at his appearance. Of all days to look disheveled…

“Will you be okay?” Jongdae’s voice was softer this time, quieter. Minseok’s old friend and longtime assistant had moved to stand beside him. Minseok didn’t have to look at him to know there would be worry in his eyes. That he was giving him _that_ look.

Minseok laughed dismissively, busying himself with unzipping the heavy black bag. “Of course. I’m fine, really.”

He carefully lifted his Nikon D3X from the bag, setting it on the table. The lenses followed, Jongdae watching him unload the equipment in silence.

“Well, if you decide you aren’t fine I can always hit him for you,” Jongdae offered, his tone lighter.

Minseok smirked. “You aren’t going to hit anyone, Jongdae. It was a long time ago, things have changed.” He finally looked at his assistant, hoped he appeared far more put together than he actually was. He needed to look confident, to look strong and unfazed.

Because he couldn’t fall apart in front of Lu Han. Not again.

Not after all this time. _Especially not here._

“You know, you scared the shit out of me the moment you agreed to this,” Jongdae said honestly, the serious expression back in place.

Minseok sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you I will be okay for you to believe me?”

“You’re a bad liar, Kim Minseok.” It was Jongdae’s turn to sigh.

Minseok focused his attention back on his equipment, not knowing what else to say.

  
  


Their names had been inseparable years before, when they were both naive and ambitious, ready to take the world by storm. And it was funny, Minseok thought, that it had all happened by accident.

Minseok had been taking pictures since he was a child, stealing his mother’s camera until she broke down and bought him his own. From there he went to photography classes, after school clubs were the median age was five years older. He was the eager kid with the camera, the anomaly, the one who had his hair ruffled, the one the others humored.

He ran the photography club in high school and then of course came college. One semester at a liberal arts school and he dropped out, moved away to a town where he could feel inspired. Where there were people like him, people who couldn’t fit in a well-planned college course catalog, who didn’t find their spark while memorizing theory out of a rented textbook. People who liked fashion, who celebrated the unique, who didn’t care if he was gay, didn’t give a shit his mother had told him never to bother calling again the moment she learned he had dropped out of school. People who wanted to create, to be free.

 _People like Lu Han_.

He was a stage actor, or that is how he introduced himself. His list of starring roles was nonexistent, but his passion was there. He was enthusiastic about everything, convinced his big break was around the next corner. _And so what if it isn’t_ , he had said to Minseok more than once, _at least I am having fun_.

And they had a lot of fun in those days. Parties, avant-garde affairs that attracted a diverse crowd. Artists, fashion enthusiasts, corner bookstore poets, and struggling actors. Drinks, drugs here and there. Shit that Minseok had never heard of and was too afraid to try. Lu Han, smiling and laughing, everyone’s friend but claiming only one truly close friend. _Minseok_ , he would say, _you’re the only friend I want_.

How little they knew when Minseok looked back, how pretentious they were while they pledged to be anything but. How easy it would be, when he mulled it over years later, to see that Lu Han was already too big for their world, too big for the crowd that surrounded them.

Falling into bed together at four in the morning, smelling of booze and the cheap perfume Jongdae’s girlfriend coated her apartment in. Sometimes drunk, often giddy, always ending up in a tangle of legs, lips against skin, the heady feeling of pleasure. Waking up in the early afternoon, free, young, and unburdened. Ten years later Minseok could see it clearly. Lu Han had been the sun that they all revolved around.

_The sun he revolved around._

Eventually Lu Han did get his big break, but it wasn’t on the stage. It was in front of Minseok’s camera, his wide eyes staring into the lens, his androgynous appeal a canvas that their fashion designer friends were all too eager to claim.

Pictures posted online, shared among their circle of friends. Pictures that led to a modelling deal, pictures that would eventually take Lu Han to the stage, to film sets, to places Minseok would never see.

Minseok’s path was different. Fashion photography, the covers of most of the major fashion magazines by the time he was twenty five. Shoots in Paris, Milan, and a memorable job on the Icelandic fjords. He had his own acclaim, his own journey, his own trajectory.

But in all that time, in the last ten years, he hadn’t worked with Lu Han again. _And it was on purpose._

  
  


One of the junior assistants put on a playlist of old punk rock songs, shrugging and saying something about the model's request. Minseok ignored the music, the memories associated with the raw and untamed lyrics, the unhinged melody that he could remember yelling along to many years before. He kept himself busy, not sparing a glance when the studio door opened.

“I see you’re being as introverted as ever.”

Minseok looked up from where he was arranging the lenses, flashing his old friend a soft smile. Wu Yifan, six feet something of attitude, but one hell of a fashion journalist. He was the only reason Minseok had even agreed to it the arrangement, to this day, but he would never tell him that, weary of inflating his already monstrous ego.

“I’m working. Isn’t that what your story is about? My job.” Minseok didn’t protest when Yifan pulled him into a hug. He hadn’t seen him since winter and Yifan had always been overly affectionate.

“Yes, your job. Your past.”  Yifan patted him roughly on the back before letting go. “You know, you and Lu Han are quite the legend among the younger crowd these days. _If only I could find myself a Minseok. If only I could find myself a Lu Han_ , they say.”

Minseok rolled his eyes. “Right. Legends.”

Yifan placed his hand on Minseok’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

Minseok swallowed. “Back in the day, you know that.”

“Ah, do I?” Yifan smiled mischievously. “I guess I hadn’t realized.”

Minseok pretended to kick him, his leg jutting out, Yifan avoiding it easily. “You knew that.”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I did.”

  


Who broke whose heart first? It was a foolish question that no one could really answer, even if Jongdae swore it was Lu Han who had started it. Even if Yifan had said they were both idiots.

Before either could recognize what they felt was love the future had been inexorably shattered, a victim of misunderstanding, of foolish pride, of youthful folly. To realize you are in love when it is all too late is particularly painful, Minseok thought, particularly cruel. To have everyone around you know you are in love before you know yourself, it is another level of pain.

Minseok had started dating someone first, a guy he met in the east village, a guy he couldn’t even remember the name of anymore. It had been a one night stand when Lu Han was out of town, a quick fuck that became a shell of a relationship. And it wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t cheating, not when they had never promised each other anything, not when they had never talked about what they were doing and where it was going.

Lu Han wasn’t far behind, a new girl on his arm every week. They didn’t fall in bed at the crack of dawn anymore, they didn’t go to parties together or spend long nights nursing warm beers at Jongdae’s girlfriend’s house while Yifan brought in an ever changing circle of new people to hang out with.

There were fights. The mismatched plates they had bought at a thrift store shattered into dozens of pieces on their kitchen floor, jagged blues and yellows, creams and ugly floral patterns skidding over the cracked linoleum. Yelling. Harsh words, hurt feelings that neither had even begun to understand.

A plethora of words that were never spoken amid the shouts, amid the venomous exchanges.

Lu Han moved out first. Minseok sobbing, making promises he could never keep. That he didn’t even know if he wanted to keep.

Ten year ago, they had fallen apart while starting out, while building up what made them who they became to everyone else in the world. They shattered and broke with each other, reassembled to be Lu Han, the model, and Kim Minseok, the photographer.

_And it still fucking hurt._

  


“You should do the interview first, I mean it would probably be a good ice breaker,” Yifan suggested, clicking away on his laptop. “The shoot can go after.”

“I want to do the shoot first,” Minseok said stubbornly.

“Are you sure th–“

“Kim _fucking_ Jongdae!” A voice boomed through the studio, the high pitched sound so familiar to Minseok it drew his attention right away.

Huang Zitao, fashion designer, old friend, consummate showman. Six foot something of sass, of unbridled laughter. Across the studio he was ruffling Jongdae’s hair and avoiding the shorter man’s slaps, laughing loudly.

“What is he doing here?” Minseok asked, more than a little confused.

“He said he’d do the wardrobe. Lu Han agreed.” Yifan shrugged. “Plus you haven’t seen him in a while either.”

Minseok side eyed Yifan, unable to argue, but still miffed that the journalist seemed to be exercising more control of his photo shoot than he was.

“Minseok!” Tao was already holding his arms wide, tears glistening in his eyes. “You’re still so…so…” He pulled Minseok into a tight hug. “Tiny and cute.”

Minseok elbowed him in the side, annoyed.

Tao groaned and let go, frowning at his old friend. “And still deadly, I see.”

Minseok mumbled a half-hearted apology. “It’s good to see you again,” he said honestly. It had been…three, no four years. Milan fashion week, the last time Minseok had shot the event.

“You too.” Tao grinned cheekily. “It’s like some fucked up class reunion, huh?”

Minseok nodded. Yeah, it seemed to be.

  


It didn’t fully sink in for weeks. Lu Han was gone.

Minseok had called but he wasn’t answering his phone. Lu Han had some bullshit excuses delivered by friends, half assed apologies that made the pain more intense, made Minseok‘s feelings seem unwarranted.

And Lu Han was everywhere. His first magazine cover, the runway. Minseok couldn’t avoid seeing his picture, a constant reminder of what had once been his.

 _But not_. They had never belonged to each other, not really. Minseok doubted Lu Han had ever thought as much, would ever think as much. They were friends who had shared a year, two years of passionate nights. Of fun before their lives marched down different paths.

What Minseok clung to, the loss, the feeling that he had lost something before he had even known it was his, and it became a delusion in his mind.

“He loved you too,” Tao had admitted one drunken night, the two of them passed out in Yifan’s apartment after going to a party.

“No he didn’t,” Minseok argued.

“Nah. He did. You two are just too fucking stubborn to make it work,” Tao had insisted.

Minseok would be lying if he said he didn’t cling to the notion his feelings had been reciprocated in some strange way.

_He hadn’t anticipated clinging to the idea for ten years._

  


“I saw your Vogue shoot with Sooyoung. Seriously how do you do it?” Tao whistled, giving Minseok a look of pure admiration.

“How do you keep stealing every fashion week?” Minseok shot back, knowing it would make Tao blush and preen, he was always a fan of compliments.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt but Yixing called, they should be here soon.” Yifan’s laptop was perched on his arm, the sleeves of his white button down rolled up to his elbows. “You still good doing the interview first?”

“We do the shoot first,” Minseok insisted once again.

This time Yifan didn’t argue.

  


Minseok had read the email innumerable times before he could even think of how to respond. Before he could consider what it would mean to say yes, what it would mean to say no.

_I want to do a story on your earlier work, more specifically your early shoots with Lu Han. A ten year retrospective of both of your careers. You shot him the best out of anyone, Minseok, you know that, I know that, fucking Anna Wintour knows that (legit she told me)._

_It would be a ten page spread in Vogue, an interview with both of you. If possible we would like to see some new material with Lu Han, shot by you._

_Think about it. Please._

_You know how to get a hold of me if you want to talk._

_Yifan_

He typed a half dozen responses, deleting them all. Long paragraphs of why he couldn’t. Scheduling challenges, artistic differences. Payment. Fuck, anything he could fall back on.

He slept on it, waited a week. Worried, debated.

How much would it hurt to see Lu Han again? How much would it sting to have him on the other side of his camera, shooting him?

_Hey,_

_Yifan said he reached out to you. Lu Han is all-in if you are up for it, just want to let you know in case it sways your final decision._

_Yixing_

Minseok stared at the email for a half an hour before he made his decision, instantly regretting it.

_I’ll do it._

  


Minseok avoided the entrance of the studio, busied himself in the back. Jongdae got the hint, keeping Tao busy and playing bodyguard of sorts, keeping everyone else away.

Minseok knew the moment Lu Han arrived, he could hear the commotion. Tao was loud in his greeting, Yifan brushed past Minseok to say his own hellos. But the photographer couldn’t.

He couldn’t face Lu Han yet, not without the safety of his camera. He didn’t turn around, didn’t dare to look up from his work until many minutes later Jongdae tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “He’s ready.”

It was Alfred Eisenstaedt’s words that rang in Minseok’s head as he gathered his equipment. _When I have a camera in my hand, I know no fear._

It was the truth. Now and many times before. It was how he broke through his shyness, how he communicated, how he protected himself from the world while simultaneously revealing the world of another.

It had always been the most effective way he communicated with Lu Han.

Was it hyper awareness that he felt as he approached the backdrop, as he walked past the assistants, camera in hand. This feeling of goosebumps, of the hair on the back of his neck standing up. His attention focused on one person, all other people in the room fading into background noise.

_Lu Han._

He was blonde now, hair styled loose. His dark brown eyes were the same, watched Minseok like ten years hadn’t passed between them. He wore a brown turtleneck and slacks courtesy of Tao’s autumn collection. The clothes fit him well.

 _Those eyes._ Minseok had seen, had photographed so many emotions dwelling in that gaze that he almost dared to say he knew them better than any other person’s eyes. He could see the emotion, the subtle flicker of something pass as Lu Han watched him approach, his mouth set in a straight line, not betraying the things that he couldn’t hide with his eyes.

“Minseok.” Simple. Impersonal. Distant.

“Ready?” The same. The same safe distance, the same attempt to shove away old feelings, to pretend it hadn’t happened.

Lu Han nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  


It was over before Minseok could understand, before he could put words, put a name to what he thinking, what he was feeling, the pangs of longing that crept along his whole being. Three outfit changes, the punk music turned off ages ago. Monotone directions Minseok gave, knowing how Lu Han looked his best, how he should tilt his head, where he should look. All faded away to clapping, to thanks and bows and niceties.

“Great job!” A warm clap on the back from Lu Han’s manager, another old friend. Zhang Yixing, same deep dimples, same mischievous glint in his eyes.

Minseok was quick to hand his camera off to Jongdae, to brush past the junior assistants, to retreat to the safety of his monitor. To escape once again.

  


Minseok had seen the list of questions a week ago, he had specifically asked for them. Yifan was all too happy to provide the list, sent in an overly friendly email that was as much mocking and teasing as it was business.

He knew what they would be asked and he had time to formulate some kind of response. Appropriate answers to a past he had held onto for too long. Words to make it seem like it hadn’t been a big deal, that their old friendship was some dumb luck between two people who would eventually become the top of their respective worlds.

_No big deal._

  


Minseok sat on the wooden chair, his shoulder still aching from lugging pounds of equipment up three flights of stairs. He shifted in his seat, grabbing restlessly for his coffee.

Across from him Yifan was typing away on his laptop, oblivious to his interview subject’s discomfort. Jongdae was watching them like a hawk, leaning against the exposed brick wall, arms folded against his chest, not even pretending to not be staring at two men seated.

Tao was watching too, albeit sporadically between checking his phone.

“We didn’t get to talk earlier.” And Yixing, who was all smiles, who hadn’t seen Minseok in ten years either. “How have you been?”

Minseok felt awkward talking to Yixing, felt like it was a warm up to what was to come.

“Good. You?” Polite. Nothing more.

“I’d be better if Lu Han hadn’t been a complete bitch about this interview,” Yixing sighed. “Haven’t seen him this nervous in…” Yixing looked at the ceiling, like he was trying to find the word. “Well, forever.”

And then he was there, sidling up and taking a seat a few feet from Minseok. If he had heard his manager’s words he didn’t let on.

“Should we begin?” Yifan asked, looking up from his laptop screen.

“Yes, if Minseok is ready,” Lu Han answered first.

“I’m ready,” Minseok confirmed, feeling a swell of nausea, of dizziness, of pure anxiety. “Let’s begin.”

  


_Easy_. The first questions weren’t difficult. About their individual careers, about what they had been doing lately.

Still, listening to Lu Han’s voice was jarring, even if Minseok had watched his latest movie, a few of his interviews over the years. It should be familiar, and maybe it was. But it was abrasive too, dredging up the things Minseok had kept hidden for too long.

“When did you two meet?”

_And now it was difficult._

“We met at a party, at Tao’s I think,” Lu Han answered slowly. “It was love at first sight.”

Tao yelled something, but Minseok wasn’t listening. He was shocked into looking at the man next to him, his face reddening in anger, or no, perhaps it was confusion, sadness…something else _. Love at first sight?_

“We got along, he needed a place to live and I was renting a flat over on Fifth and Emerald Street so I let him move in,” Minseok corrected. His heart thrummed in his chest. He looked back to Yifan, discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Tell me about the first time you decided to photograph Lu Han and vice versa, Lu Han the first time you sat for Minseok.”

“We were messing around, if I remember right,” Minseok started.

“Minseok is the most talented photographer I’ve ever seen, even now. It was a no brainer to sit for him when he asked. The early pictures, that was just our life around our apartment.”

_Our apartment. Our..ours…_

“The camera loves Lu Han, as stupid as it sounds.” Minseok swallowed, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

“What was the scene like back in those days? The neighborhood where you lived was the center of a burgeoning fashion industry. How did you both fit into that scene?”

“It was fun. Creative.” And the answers became safe again. Minseok remembered how to breathe.

  


Like the shoot, it was over before Minseok knew it. Yifan was back to typing furiously on his laptop, Jongdae had wandered off. Tao was on his phone, even Yixing was no longer paying attention.

It was just the two of them.

Lu Han cleared his throat. Somehow Minseok knew it was coming. “Are you busy?” Three words, an unknown meaning. Was he looking for a short conversation, or was he asking for something else?

He dared to make eye contact, to stare into those eyes. “No.”

“Good.” Lu Han smiled, Minseok noticed the frown lines around his mouth, the signs of age that the lighting and the makeup had mostly covered.

Minseok swallowed away the lump in his throat. “We should go somewhere to talk,” he heard himself saying. He couldn’t comprehend what he was doing, why he was asking for more pain, for more confusion. Why he was dredging up the weakest part of himself, falling before the man he had foolishly loved for so long.

“I live close to here,” Lu Han offered.

Sometimes, Minseok thought as he followed Lu Han from the studio, avoiding Jongdae’s questioning looks, sometimes the pain, the hurt, the ignorance, have no expiration date, especially when the person harboring the hurt is unwilling to let go.  

  


Minseok supposed there were several version of this, several outcomes that a statistics nerd could calculate, put into neat little boxes like a fucked up scorecard. What happens when old lovers who parted on bad terms meet again in the most nostalgic of ways? What could they say, what would they do?

Who would cry first, who would yell? Would anyone yell at all?

Or did time really heal all wounds? Perhaps, for some people.

Lu Han’s apartment was spacious, in the expensive part of town, the place that had been old warehouses and abandoned lofts a decade before. There were boutiques now, expensive restaurants where boarded up shops once existed.

Minseok toed off his shoes at the entry way, steadying himself with his palm pressed flat against the crimson red wall.

A cat wandered down the hall, tail held high. It was deep black, green eyes staring at Minseok in curiosity. He bent down to pet it when he passed, the animal rubbing into his touch.

 _The picture_ . Black and white, blown up and hanging over the fireplace. His picture. _Their picture_. The one he took ages ago, the exposed brick of the apartment they shared, the paint can on the floor, the old knitted blanket that Lu Han refused to throw away scattered in the background.

Minseok walked to it, drawn in, unable to ignore what it could mean. What it didn’t mean. _What he wanted it to mean._

And maybe he could ignore that Lu Han stood beside him, staring up at the moment frozen in time, at the glimpse of what once was.

“You always took the best pictures of me.” Lu Han’s voice was low. “When Yifan told me about the interview idea, it was easy to say yes.”

Minseok could argue, brush it off as a compliment undeserved, turn it around and say it was a vanity piece, that Lu Han’s career had as much to benefit from a retrospective as Minseok’s. He could make small talk, pretend that he hadn’t had something in mind when he suggested they talk. He could, but they both would know he was lying.

 

There was something infallibly pathetic about his state of mind, about the things he wanted to say and do even after the avoidance, keeping Lu Han at a distance through the shoot and the interview. Embarrassment, self-loathing. He could feel it all, deserved it all. “You are still my favorite model, even after all this time.”

Lu Han hummed in agreement. He wasn’t going to argue, he knew. “I’ve missed you.”

Soft words spoken after a long time of anger and hurt. Of confusion. Of pain. Minseok looked away from the picture that Lu Han had hung in such a prominent place. He walked across the living room, to the sofa table and the framed photographs that were scattered about the glass topped table. Lu Han smiling, relaxed, holding his cat, at an event, official pictures, one of his parents.

“Ten fucking years,” Lu Han was saying from across the room. “It’s been too long, Minseok.”

“Yeah,” Minseok muttered, “Ten years.” But what was ten years to two people who didn’t speak, who might not feel the same way?

“Why do you dye your hair?” Minseok picked up the only picture where Lu Han had black hair. He was blonde now, had been for years.

“You don’t like it?” Echoes of Lu Han at twenty, asking the same thing about every shirt, every pair of pants he pulled on before a party, came back to him.

Minseok shrugged. It didn’t matter what he liked. He set the picture down, feeling suddenly restless.

“How have you been?” Lu Han asked.

“I’ve been good. You?” Minseok walked to the cream colored sofa and sat down, Lu Han following suit and sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace.

“Lonely.” And maybe that was the one thing Minseok had never thought he would hear from Lu Han, from the man he had built up in his mind. “Bored.” He sighed, leaning back and dragging his hand through his hair.  “I think about the old days sometimes. About how much fun we used to have. I miss it. I miss having someone close. I miss….I don’t know. I miss us, I guess.”

Names were at the tip of Minseok’s tongue. Questions about the women Lu Han had dated, the men he had dated too. About why Lu Han was feeling the way he was when he had a very public and constant love life. “You can’t go home again,” Minseok replied, pulling another memory forward from many years ago.

Lu Han laughed, the sound sad. “I know. I know. It was my favorite book, not yours.”

Minseok remembered. Lu Han had five copies of the Thomas Wolfe novel, three in paperback, and two in hardcover. They sat at the top of the small white bookshelf, right next to the old dictionary Lu Han had owned since he was a child, or so he said.

“I miss us too, sometimes,” Minseok admitted, drunk on this...whatever this was. This strange mixture of emotions, so strong and fast and unshakeable. Foolishness. “But it was a long time ago.” _We are different now_ , is what he didn’t say. _An interview doesn’t fix things._

“You talk like we’re senior citizens,” Lu Han joked.

“Well we aren’t twenty years old anymore, Lu Han,” Minseok replied quickly.

“No, we are thirty.” Lu Han sighed. “Thirty and still not saying what we really mean.”

And maybe that is why they were always on the same page, because they weren’t. Because they never said it then, they weren’t saying it now. They bonded over being silent, experiencing while letting everything  a painful dredge of hurt feelings and words that were never spoken.

Maybe it was time to say it now.

“Love at first sight,” Minseok repeated the words that had shocked him.

“Was it not for you?” Lu Han asked without missing a beat.

How to answer that without revealing the last decade of pain?

Maybe talking was foolish. Maybe it was time to keep up their modus operandi. It was all better left unsaid.

Minseok was silent, blissfully silent getting up from the couch, crossing the room to the armchair. Lu Han watched him and Minseok couldn’t mistake what he saw reflected in Lu Han’s eyes. _The need._

He straddled his lap, Lu Han letting him, hands going to Minseok’s waist. It felt so natural, the way they still fit together, the way Minseok’s body could still fit onto Lu Han’s lap, his legs hugging Lu Han.

Talking would get them nowhere. Not really. Not when the first press of their lips after a decade apart said more than any of their awkward interview answers or the brief times they locked eyes throughout the day.

The soft press of lips, the low noises they made as their tongues met, their bodies remembering a lifetime before.

Gone was the cheap perfume smell, the booze, the unbridled enthusiasm of youth and the foolishness that went with it. In its place was a shared desire that had been thrust into the background of their lives, left to languish until they found this moment. Until they took the chance, agreed to see each other again.

Minseok clung to Lu Han, surprised when he stood up, his hands cupping Minseok’s backside. Minseok’s lips pressed into Lu Han's own as he was carried to another room, knowing what they were doing, knowing how much it could complicate an already long and troublesome relationship.

But he didn’t care. Not really, and maybe that was how stupid it all was. How stupid he was.

Lu Han fiddled for a light switch, Minseok sliding down his body before being hoisted up again, a noise of surprise leaving his lips, earning a chuckle from Lu Han.

Lu Han was gentle, setting him down on a bed. They stared at each other for a moment, neither moving, neither speaking. A silent question. Was this okay? Would this be okay?

And Minseok answered. His hand slipped to the back of Lu Han’s neck, pulling him down into an open mouth kiss. He was greedy, nipping and sucking Lu Han’s bottom lip while his hands tugged at Lu Han’s shirt.

Lu Han was happy to oblige. Supporting himself with one hand he began to tug at Minseok’s shirt in turn, his hand roving against the fabric, grazing Minseok’s hardening nipple.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, breaking their kiss to begin a trail of sucks and bites down Minseok’s neck, to his adam's apple, to his collarbone. Tongue gliding over skin, teeth grazing the bone that jutted along Minseok’s shoulder.

Minseok carded his fingers through Lu Han’s hair, let his head fall back, his nerve endings firing at the stimulation. Lu Han unbuttoned Minseok’s shirt, fingers pulling away the tiny buttons in a quick and desperate motion, mouth still working over Minseok’s skin, marking him.

Minseok was already hard, his cock straining against his jeans. He bucked up, chasing friction, writhing as Lu Han pushed his shirt away, fingertips pressing into the skin of his arms, mouth working lower.

When Lu Han took one of his nipples into his mouth, suckling, Minseok moaned wantonly.

“You still like this?” Lu Han asked breathlessly, fingers tweaking the other nipple.

Minseok wanted to say something sarcastic in turn but his mind was hazy, a fog setting in. He answered with a low whine, a plea for something more.

Lu Han chuckled, pressing kisses down Minseok’s abdomen, to his waist, his hands going to Minseok’s hips, caressing before pressing in, holding him.

Through all these years, through all the pain and confusion, it was still only him, only Lu Han that could make him this way.

Minseok held his breath when Lu Han undid the button of his jeans, obliged by lifting his hips, letting Lu Han pull his jeans down. The hot breath he could feel through his boxers, the soft kisses on the inside of his thighs, it drove him insane. “Do something.” Minseok finally found his bossy side, his frustration.

Luhan hummed against his thighs, not answering. His hand found Minseok’s cock, his fingers teasing along the clothed shaft.

“I meant it,” Lu Han husked, breathe tickling Minseok’s skin. “Love at first sight.”

Minseok wanted to kick him, wanted to tell him how stupid it was to say such things when they had spent so long avoiding each other. But he couldn’t, not when Luhan began to suck the wet front of Minseok’s boxers, his tongue swirling the fabric against Minseok’s hard cock.

Lu Han sucked in, taking in the head through the fabric, pulling moans from Minseok’s lips.

Minseok could feel his body reacting, his toes curling in, digging into the mattress. He was sensitive, untouched for years, ever since his last disastrous fling.

Lu Han held Minseok’s hips down firmly, stopping him from jerking up while he continued to swirl his tongue against the shaft of his cock. “Still so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.”

Minseok huffed, sucking in his bottom lip, biting until he was sure he was drawing blood.

Lu Han finally moved away, went back to pressing soft kisses into Minseok’s hips and his stomach.

“Please tell me you have lube,” Minseok rasped, hoping that now they had gone this far it wasn’t some horrible practical joke they were playing on each other.

Lu Han looked up, eyes dark. He nodded before getting up, fingers sliding against Minseok’s stomach as he rose, sending a shiver coursing through Minseok’s body.

Lu Han rummaged around in the top drawer of his dresser before returning with a small bottle. Memories of years before, of Lu Han working him open for hours, murmuring against his skin until Minseok begged, had him tensing in anticipation.

Lu Han set the bottle on the nightstand and went to work on his own shirt, Minseok following suit by pulling down his boxers and shucking off the jeans that were still around his ankles. He watched Lu Han undress with admiration. He was older now, there was no hiding that, but where he had once been thin, lanky even, there was now lean muscle. The feelings seemed to be mutual.

“Can I say you look hotter at thirty than at twenty?” Lu Han asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“As long as you fuck me, yes,” Minseok answered, his legs already opening to reveal himself without embarrassment.

Lu Han laughed, coating his fingers in lube before settling himself between Minseok’s legs. He looked almost reverent as he teased Minseok’s hole, watching as he slid his fingertip in.

Minseok hissed, not used to the intrusion. He sucked in a few deep breaths, Lu Han urging him to relax. He closed his eyes and let the tension leave his shoulders, urging Lu Han to go on. The first finger burned, it was hard to adjust. He tensed again, Lu Han rubbing his middle soothingly, whispering words of encouragement.

Minseok did his best to relax, to hold back the whimper when Lu Han inserted a second finger. He jerked up, about to cry out when Lu Han began suckling his cock once again, teasing with his tongue while his fingers worked Minseok’s tightness open.

Minseok arched his back, loosening up, the burn transforming to a subtle heat. When Lu Han inserted a third finger, hitting Minseok’s prostate with a slow slide of his digits, Minseok cried out, pleasure replacing the pain.

“Now,” he pushed at Lu Han’s arm, not wanting to come yet, not like this.

Lu Han removed his fingers, rocking back on his legs he leaned down and gave Minseok a long and languid kiss. Minseok felt his body quiver, his muscles relaxing and then tightening. Lu Hans’ tongue licked along his bottom lip, soothing him for what was to come.

Minseok closed his eyes, breathing heavy, listening to the uncap of the bottle. He whimpered when he felt Lu Han’s cock press against his hole, a gentle pressure that became more as Lu Han pressed himself forward.

Lu Han gripped Minseok’s thighs, holding him open while he seated himself slowly.

Once Lu Han was balls deep, Minseok flexed his thigh muscles, holding him, pulling him in, wanting more. The pain had left him, replaced by desire.

It had been ten years since he had Lu Han inside of him, easing him open with slow thrusts, whispering sweet words in his ear as they chased their high together.

Ten years since he had felt this sense of euphoria, this sneeze of losing himself to another person, surrendering his body and his mind. _It had been too long._

Minseok began to meet Lu Han’s thrusts, bucking his hips up, chasing the pleasure that had him keening, begging for more.

Lu Han knew, he always knew what to do. What angle, how to move Minseok’s legs so he hit that spot dead on, thrusting into his prostate with deadly accuracy.

“Gonna–“Minseok stuttered, feeling his release coiling in his stomach.

“Come for me Minseok,” Lu Han moaned as Minseok clenched around him.

Minseok’s release coursed through him, cum splattering on his stomach and chest, his entire body tensing up, pulling Lu Han in deeper.

Lu Han made a guttural noise, crying out, head thrown back, as he drove into Minseok again and again, finally releasing his seed with strangled noise.

Minseok was overstimulated, his body racked with pleasure as he felt Lu Han spill inside of him, a warmth spread as Lu Han fell forward, his forehead resting against Minseok’s.

A few moments of silence, nothing but heavy breathing, then a tender kiss.

“Thank you,” Lu Han husked. “I love you.”

Minseok kissed him back, unsure how to respond.

  


The morning sun. The city was becoming noisy, traffic, somewhere nearby there we a construction crew working.

Minseok groaned, resisting the tug of wakefulness. He leaned back, into the warmth of the man who was next to him. His back pressed against Lu Han’s chest, Lu Han’s leg thrown over his, hand resting against Minseok’s abdomen.

Comforting was the word that came to mind. It was comforting being like this, feeling sated, warm and comfortable, dark emotions quelled for now. _Ignored for now._

Lu Han stirred a few minutes later, interrupting Minseok’s losing battle to fall back asleep.

He seemed disoriented when he realized there was someone next to him. He tugged his arm and made a noise of surprise before realization set in, before he pulled Minseok closer to him, planting soft kisses on his temple.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Minseok answered, voice husky with sleep.

Lu Han planted lazy kisses along Minseok’s neck, his breath tickling Minseok’s skin.

“What does this mean,” Minseok said quietly, not opening his eyes, not really wanting to face any of it.

“What do you want it to mean?” Lu Han whispered, lips brushing against Minseok’s skin.

Minseok opened his eyes, staring at the stark white walls of Lu Han’s bedroom.

_What did he want it to mean?_

  


Minseok stirred his drink, straw clanking against the ice cubes. Bartenders at fashion events sucked, it was a universal fact, at least in this city. Everything was watered down.

It was chilly, winter beginning to set in. The night sky was clearer now, even amid the smog of the city. Minseok stared at the sky, leaning against the balcony railing. When he heard the patio door slide open he looked over his shoulder, smiling when he saw it was Jongdae.

“Sick of Tao?” Minseok asked. Ever since they had been reunited back at the interview and photoshoot, Tao had stuck to Jongdae constantly. It didn’t help that Tao was between fashion lines at the moment and Minseok wasn’t travelling (which meant  by default neither was Jongdae), they had plenty of free time to run into each other.

“Sick of Yifan is more like it. Damn guy thinks he was the one this party is about,” Jongdae snorted, shaking his head.

Minseok chuckled. “Hey, he wrote it.”

“He wrote an interview. You and Lu Han answered the questions. I will never get journalists.” Jongdae moved next to Minseok, resting his arms on the railing.

Minseok had debated if he would attend, another string of drafts deleted when Yifan had proposed the idea of a party for their magazine feature. Gallery of his works featuring Lu Han, plus a celebration of their interview. It all seemed too grand, too formal, too…

“You want a smoke?” Jongdae asked, pulling his cigarette pack from his suit coat.

“Nah. And you need to quit,” Minseok reminded him for the hundredth time.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jongdae waved him away, lighting up his cigarette. They stood in silence for a while, both staring up at the sky.

“So, you know I was going to ask you eventually. Do you love him?” Jongdae asked quietly, sucking in the smoke from his cigarette, exhaling it into tiny puffs that floated up into the night. “Hell, you’ve been at his place every night for the last four months. Shit, I worry about you.”

Minseok looked out at the city, at the lights that were still on in the office buildings, at the street lights in the distance. “Yeah, I do,” he answered confidently.

It was there all along, it always would be. In ten years, in twenty, after a decade apart or a decade together. Misunderstandings. Youthful stupidity, stubborn worldviews. Missing each other on purpose or making sure they were never apart.

“And he loves me too,” Minseok added, feeling ten years of regret, of pain, slip away into the night, his silence broken. He glanced over his shoulder, into the party, to the room where the fashion crowd was toasting his career, Lu Han’s career.

He locked eyes through the window with the one man he knew better than any other, the eyes he knew better than anyone else’s. _Lu Han._  


**Author's Note:**

> \- Title inspired by the novel You Can't Go Home Again by Thomas Wolfe  
> -Vague (very vague) inspiration taken from the 1970s underground New York fashion scene / Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe's relationship


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